selves with everything that can remind them of family life—of the joys of their homesteads. Will you believe that these poor sailors have brought with them the lively singers of the domestic hearth—these dear little crickets, whose voice during the winter mingles with that of the spinning-wheel, who, during the summer, follow the reapers to the fields, in order to repeat to the sound of the sickle the songs they have sung by the fire-side?"
Callery maliciously allowed me to finish my sentence, and then, with a shout of laughter, said, "You are a strange kind of traveller, my friend; before seeing with your eyes, you see with your imagination. Do you wish to know why the Chinese have brought crickets on board?"
"Certainly," I replied, somewhat annoyed.
"Well, then, simply in order to make them fight. These sylphs of the hearth are in their eyes knights in black armour, destined to perish in order to defend the sapeiks of their masters. The betting will soon open, and you will assist at a strange combat."
In the meanwhile, the cricket I had heard continued his joyful cry, his deep and powerful voice testifying to his robust organisation. Soon afterwards a new singer appeared on the stage. This one had a clear sonorous voice, and was in fact a tenor—a genuine tenor.
"This is a contest in the style of those be-
